


Flowers Grow in Spring, Not Winter.

by sailingtheLarryship



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Real Life, larry - Freeform, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingtheLarryship/pseuds/sailingtheLarryship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hendall is the punchline to every joke of the season for everyone. Except Louis and Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers Grow in Spring, Not Winter.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened here. I guess i've just been upset lately, about the whole Hendall thing and like, my Larry heart needed it. If yours does too, I hope this helps just a tiny bit.

Louis’ in the dressing room, with Lou changing, fixing, and styling his hair to her heart’s delight. Harry is sat in the chair next to Louis, giving minimal and unhelpful opinions (because he really does believe any kind of hairstyle looks great on Louis), watching as Lou creates and destroys and recreates Louis’ hair into one thing or another. It’s a routine they have. They just wait around for each other, hang out nearby while the other gets ready. But this particular time, Louis’ taking so long, because he’s trying to find the perfect hairstyle to sport for seven hours straight, and Harry is growing excruciatingly hungry to the point where he can’t even hide it anymore.

                Eventually, Harry’s stomach grumbles so loud both Louis and Lou kick him out of the dressing room, tell him to get lost and get some cereal. He protests at first, only because it’s been an awkward few days between Louis and Harry and he never wants Louis to forget how much he loves him, but really had no intention of staying. He leaves after Louis tells him one, or maybe two, more times that it’s alright, he can go eat, and then he walks hurriedly to where he knows the food is and the boys are.

                They’re all sprawled around the couches surrounding one particular table set up with food for just them. Figures he’d find them all here. They’re all half-done, half-ready. He finds a shirtless Niall, an unquiffed Zayn, and a pantless Liam all eating bowls of cereal while chatting away about something Harry’s got no clue about. In the middle table are empty bowls, the box of cocoa puffs, some plastic utensils, and white milk. It’s pretty awful to leave milk out like that, Harry knows, but he’s so hungry he would probably still not mind if the milk was a day or two old.

                He grabs for the box of cereal and a bowl, nodding to Liam to pick up his feet from the couch so he can sit down. Liam, with a lousy grunt, does so anyways, and Harry grabs for the milk before taking a final seat.

                “Well, well,” Niall starts, a mouth full of cereal, “you look awfully sleepy this morning, Harold”

                They all laugh and as Harry puts the milk down in the table where he found it, he knows where it’s all going.

                “Why do you think that is, Niall?” Zayn asks a weird, sophisticated tone to his voice and mischievous grin on his lips. People don’t tend to think Zayn’s the practical joker, but at sometimes, this being one of them, he very much is.

                Niall looks up to him, where Zayn’s sat on the hand of the couch, “I don’t know,” he looks over to Harry, who’s not looking their way, but instead looking down to his bowl, stirring the milk and cereal with a plastic spoon, “I think it’s because he may be having a hard time keeping up with the Kardashians”

                And there it is. The infamous punch line. They all laugh like it’s the funniest joke they’ve ever heard in their life. Harry tries to ignore them, tries to ignore the way Niall’s laugh is loud and goofy, and how Zayn’s is quite endearing to hear, and how even Liam is laughing like Harry doesn’t see him do so often at these kind of jokes.  Harry tries, real hard, to ignore all of that, and them for his own benefit. He doesn’t want to indulge them, doesn’t want the jokes to keep going all day, but it’s so hard to fight off the smile with all of them surrounding him with laughter and bliss.

                “Oh, come on, Harry,” Niall says from across, “we know you wanna laugh”

                And okay, maybe he laughs a bit, but he quickly catches himself and stops, biting his bottom lip to try and keep serious. He meets Niall’s eyes, and tries to scold him the best he can. He can tell by Niall’s expression he’s not the least successful.

                “Alright, alright,” Harry says a bit defeated, “it was _kind of_ funny,” Niall and Zayn high five and Harry regrets admitting to it at all, “but, no more jokes, okay? And not around Louis”

                “Why not?” Zayn asks like Harry’s being completely unreasonable.

                “Yeah,” Niall sides with Zayn, “Louis takes the piss out of them. He loves it”

                And just when Harry’s about to tell Niall that yeah, Louis might them a bit funny in the beginning, they do begin to bother him sooner than the boys realize, than Louis will let Harry know about. But that’s when Louis walks in, and Harry already knows today’s not going to be much better than yesterday.       

                “I take the piss out of what exactly?” he strolls in with a simple do. It’s just down, parted to the side, going a bit up and back. He looks beautiful and Harry wants to put down his cereal bowl just so he can hold Louis in his arms instead, even if he hasn’t ate any of it and is still starving.

                Louis doesn’t walk to him though, he walks to where Niall’s sat. Harry feels a ping of sadness hit him right in the gut, even if it is reasonable for Louis to sit over there, where there’s actually room for him, than to sit in the cramped up couch that Liam and Harry are taking up. But still, Harry knows Louis. He knows Louis would make space if he wanted to be next to Harry, like he’s done in the past. It’s more than a simple issue of space.

                “Harry’s stamina wearing thin,” Niall replies and Louis furrows his eyebrows like he’s got no idea what the hell Niall is even saying. Harry’s eyeing them carefully, because even if he were to jump in at this point and try and deflect Niall’s awful joke, Louis would eventually hear it anyways. He thinks it’s better to let nature take its course and deal with the aftermath of it all later.

                “Because, you know,” Niall laughs into his hand, “he’s having a hard time keeping up with the Kardashians!”

                The boys laugh just as hard the second time, but Harry doesn’t need to try not to. This time, it’s not funny. At all. Maybe it’s the way Louis forces up a smile, fakes his laughter, and really tries hard not to look over to Harry. Maybe it’s the way that Louis’ acting and the way Louis looks at Harry now, the way it’s all too similar to the way he did around this same time last year.

                “See,” Zayn says, looking to Harry, who’s too busy looking at Louis.

                “Told ya he thought they were funny,” Niall says matter-of-factly.

                Louis laughs, low and unauthentic, “’course I do. Don’t be so protective, Harry. ‘M not made out of glass”

                He stares straight at Harry, trying to seem unaffected, and then they’re all laughing again, except Harry. He looks back down to his cereal, his appetite suddenly lost. Though his lashes he looks up at Louis. Louis thinks no one’s watching him, because just then he plays with the fringe of his shirt, a smile absent from his lips, and no amusement left in his eyes.

 

**

                He walks in to the SNL studio a bit late. Not exactly late, because the show has yet to start, but late enough to get a bitching from Lou, who says it’s too late to properly fix his hair and she’s going to have to work quick just to do a shit job, and get the cold shoulder from Louis. It’s not his fault, really. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t have been parading around New York with Kendall anyways. He’d be with Louis, kissing all his pieces, cherishing all his beauty. But, the world is not a wish granting factory, and Harry is becoming slightly more aware of that as the days go on.

                He walks up to the boys once Lou releases him, a slap to the shoulder and a scowl. He thanks her anyways, assures her it looks fine. It does, for ten minutes of prep time. He tries for a smile once he reaches them, but Louis’ not having it. He steps to the side a bit as Harry enters the group, and Harry wishes he could reach out for him roughly, hold his face in between his hands and kiss him eagerly, let him know that’s really all he’s been wanting to do all day. But they’re still in the eye of the public, and he can’t do that. He’s not sure if they were in private If Louis would even let him anyways.

                “I’m so excited, and nervous, and fucking pumped, man!” Niall jumps up and down on the heels of his feet, shaking his hands off like he’s trying to air dry them. Harry laughs and puts a hand on his stomach.

                “I get the nervous part,” he says truthfully. He’s always nervous for a performance. He’s messed up a couple of few in his past and gotten major criticism for it. As far as he’s come, both with his vocals and confidence, he can’t pretend the mess ups don’t get to him.

                “You’ll do fine, Harry,” Zayn says, a hand on his shoulder and a genuine smile on his face for comfort.

                “You always do, mate,” Liam says, a similar expression to Zayn’s on his face too, twirling his mic in his hand.

                They’re quiet for a bit after that, just hearing the audience pile in. He takes the moment of distraction to lean in to Louis a bit.

                “Hi,” he breathes. Louis doesn’t look at him.      

“You look very nice,” he whispers, because he always tells Louis he looks nice, because in his eyes, there’s not a moment he doesn’t.

Louis still doesn’t reply, instead he sighs, like he’s annoyed. Harry wants to shake him out of it. Tell Louis that it’s not fair, because Harry has to deal with almost the same exact thing for three hundred and sixty five days, times two and counting. But he knows it’s a bit different. Louis never feels like enough for Harry, always feels like Harry’s getting tired of it. Things like this only push his fears further towards reality.

“Babe,” Harry tries, reaching a bit for Louis’ hand. Louis moves his away and looks at Harry with an angry glare.

“Don’t, Harry,” he warns, his eyes scanning the crew and others hanging around, making sure no one’s looking at them. Once he’s sure no one is, he looks back to Harry.

“Not here, okay? We’ll talk about it later,” he says under his breath, quickly looking away from him. Harry knows there’s no further discussion. Louis’ not letting up and Harry will just have to try later.

 

**

Louis’ in a much better mood after their performance.  It’s justifiable, because they performed “Through the Dark” a song Louis wrote along with Liam, and they did it rather well for their first time. It’s a master piece, and it was brought to life, and Harry thinks Louis has every bit of right to feel triumphant.  Even if Zayn did forget some of the lyrics. That’ll make a great story too one day.

 Louis nuzzles up to Harry, and Harry doesn’t waste time wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist, kissing the tip of his nose, because they’re all in the dressing room, away from people’s scrutiny and Harry loves holding Louis. Wants to do it forever, even when Louis is being grumpy and stubborn.

                “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” he says, his eyes roaming Louis’ face, scared he’ll one day forget it. Louis smiles, watching Harry’s mouth.

                “Not enough,” he says, teasing and smiling. Harry wraps his arms tighter around Louis’ waist.

                “One day, it’ll be too much and you’ll _want_ me to shut about it,” he says, in a tone that isn’t serious, but a mind that is.

                “I want you to shut up right now,” Louis says, locking his eyes with Harry. They give a message, a clear one, and Harry kisses him without another word. The other boys grunt, making noises of pretend disgust, and tell them to get a room. All the while Louis flips them off, his lips still connected with Harry’s. And Harry smiles into the kiss, knowing this is what true happiness feels like and no amount of PR will ruin it for him. For them.

 

**

                He’s quiet the entire ride back home, his legging shaking uncontrollably with rage.  It’s not usually him that gets upset. He’s usually the one who tries to stay calm, tries to ride with the storm until it’s over, instead of going against the gradient because, really, it’s all more frustrating that way. But he can’t help it. Can’t help that he wants to share the victory with the boys, with his boy, and now he can’t. Because Kendall’s in London and Harry _has_ to go see her. It’s do or die, apparently.

                “Harry,” Louis places his hand on Harry’s thigh and Harry immediately stops shaking it. He looks to Louis. They’re the only two awake. Zayn, Niall, and Lima are sleeping, snoring softly and enjoying the plane ride. Even with Louis sat right next to him, he can’t find peace.

                “Sorry,” he says lazily, like he doesn’t mean it, because maybe he doesn’t.

                “’S alright,” Louis says lowly, “you’re not tired?”

                Louis eyes Harry carefully, but Harry’s too mentally exhausted to look at Louis, look at him and try and be okay for the both of them. Because he knows how hard that is, how thin it wears people down. He looks up to the roof of the jet instead and shrugs.

                “Harry,” Louis says more sternly. Harry still doesn’t look over.

                “Look,” Louis says, moving over a bit closer to Harry, “getting that way is not going to help us. You’re going anyways. Might as well go well rested,”

                And Louis’ not too good at wise and comforting words when he’s as upset himself, just trying to conceal it. But Harry appreciates it, and finally looks over with a faint smile on his face. Louis mimics it, though it’s weak. He tries and Harry loves him for that.

                “I’ll sleep when I get to the hotel,” Harry replies, amidst all the darkness, he can still see the shine of Louis’ blue eyes, and he leans in without thought.

                “Jesus,” Louis laughs lowly, “is she that boring?”

                Harry smiles, his eyes trained on Louis’, “no,” he says truthfully, “I’m just that tired”

                “Then sleep,” Louis says, an emotion Harry can’t quite pinpoint trapped in his voice.

                “I can’t,” Harry admits. He wishes he could, maybe then he wouldn’t feel so exhausted and overwhelmed with guilt, and anger, and maybe a bit of self-pity.

                “I love you,” he blurts out, not really knowing where it comes from. They’re not the type to say it randomly. If it happens, they’re having a good day. But they’re not having a good day, and they’re probably not even going to have a night together.

                Louis leans in, their faces only inches apart now.

                “I know,” he says it like he does, “I love you, too”

                Harry closes the little bit of space between them, his lips meeting Louis’ with a perfect fit, a perfect amount of force. Louis threads his fingers in Harry’s ringlets, the way they both love. And Harry has to pull away before he’s drowned in emotion. He wants to be strong, for them, because they deserve it. But on night’s like these, when the reality of how shit their whole love story truly is, he feels like he has no strength left.

                Louis notices, he notices the way Harry backs away and looks away quickly, to a black sky because they’re flying over water and there are no city lights to illuminate the ground beneath them. He notices the way Harry takes in a very deep breath and wipes at his eyes even though there are no actual tears spilling. They’re threatening to fall down, and Harry doesn’t want that. He gives Harry his moment, waiting patiently for him to return to Louis. He does, and then Louis smiles, sympathetic and warranted.

                “Sleep time?” he asks through silence. He sees as much as hears Harry shuffle besides him, so he’s positioned in a way that Louis can lay against him comfortably. He does, his head on Harry’s chest as Harry links his fingers with Louis’, drawing patterns on his knuckles with his thumb.

                Louis closes his eyes, drinks in the smell and company of Harry because he knows he won’t be able to tonight. He knows he probably won’t be able to a lot of nights in these past couple of months.

                “I’m sorry,” Harry says above him. He kisses his head and squeezes his hand.

                “I know,” Louis exhales, “but it’s not your fault. Just remember that”

                And Harry tries, he tries really hard to listen to what Louis’ just said. But even as he replays the words over and over again in his head, he’s restless. By the time they board, Harry’s sleepier than ever.

 

**

                “No Christmas at the Kardashian’s? Guess Christmas didn’t come early for you this year, did it?” Niall jokes, as they sit around on the floor in a circle getting ready for their interview.

                “Actually, it did,” Harry tries to take it the lightest he can, and looks over to Louis, who’s sat next to him, shooting him a smile and a wink. His sure Louis gets the message, because he rolls his eyes like Harry’s the biggest sucker in love to exist.

                “What’re you going to get her though?” Zayn pokes again, being the little sneak he is. Harry rolls his eyes, because unless everyone’s laughing, they won’t stop with the jokes.

                “How about a ken doll?” Niall says, wiggling his eyebrows. Everyone laughs, even Louis, though it’s not as great as his usual laugh, and in return Harry doesn’t really laugh at all. He hides his face in his hands and then proceeds by slamming it down to the pillow he’s got in front of him. He’s got no patience for this.

                “Why are the lot of you so annoying?” he grunts, picking his head up and looking at them like they’re a bore. Niall laughs, because Niall tends to laugh at everything.

                “Don’t worry, mate,” Liam says, “the jokes will be worse when it’s Louis’ _twenty-second_ birthday,” he nudges Louis with his shoulder and Louis rolls his eyes.   

                “Hey, Lou,” Niall says with a bright smile and Harry knows what’s coming next.

                “Are you feeling twenty-two?” Niall, Liam, and Zayn sing in unison, like they’ve been practicing the line like it’s a ritual. Harry and Louis share a look, and although they’re both smiling, none of them are feeling very giddy now days.

                “Okay, okay,” Louis says putting his hands up in front of him, “Kendall jokes I like, Taylor jokes are getting a bit old”

                “Not as old as you!” Niall fires back.

                “But everything will be alright,” Zayn says, looking at Niall and Liam with pointed fingers and a silly smile.

                All together they sing the rest of the lines to follow and Louis laughs, because that’s Louis. He never wants people to know his real weaknesses. And Harry watches, because that’s Harry. He’d never put them out there for the world to know.

                “It really worries me how much of that song you guys know,” Harry yells over them, trying to get them to quit the singing. They only sing louder, laughing and pausing in between lyrics because they’re laughing so hard.  In the middle of it all, Louis and Harry meet eyes. Harry gives Louis a knowing look, the kind that asks Louis a million questions he can’t wait until they’re alone to ask out loud.

                Louis answers, mouthing a simple ‘it’s okay’ though Harry’s not sure whether to believe he is or not.

 

**

                Harry goes to Louis’ house with a batch of cookies in his hand. Twenty-two if he’s counting. But he’s sure Louis wont. He’ll just devour them, paying no mind to the frosting on top of the cookies that spell “I love you” that Harry begged Gemma to do for him, because honestly, her handwriting is so much better than his.  He’ll probably even like the cookies more than the actual gift. Maybe even scold Harry for spending any kind of money on him. He doesn’t know how Louis seriously expects him not to.

                But the best gift, Louis will say, is having Harry show up unexpectedly. Because Harry’s not supposed to be going over today. He’s supposed to be with family and so is Louis, but Louis had told him he’d be around in the morning, cleaning up their house a bit before he went. Harry was surprised, because Louis never cleans, but he was happy, because it meant _his_ surprise would work.

                He walks up to their door, looking around for only a second to make sure no one’s around to snap photos of him. He sighs, relieved, because no one is. He’s glad he’s been able to keep this house hidden from the rest of the world. He kind of played it safe too, driving Gemma’s car instead of his own.

                He jingles out his key, with struggle because he barely has a free hand. He manages though, and he’s about to slot the key in when the door opens, and there is Louis, coming out with glossy eyes and a red nose. It only takes seconds for them to notice each other, Louis sees Harry with gifts and cookies, and Harry sees Louis with a frown and no happiness radiating off of him.

                Louis opens his mouth, but Harry gives him no time to speak. He quickly puts everything down and bundles Louis in his arms. He can feel Louis tense under him, trying to hold in tears, and Harry hates that even after all this time, Louis still feels the need to mask emotion with Harry. Harry supposes that’s just who he is, who he was raised to be, and Harry can deal with that. It doesn’t make him love Louis any less.

                “Louis,” Harry breaths, holding Louis to him close, “babe, talk to me”

                Louis shakes his head and tries to pull away. Harry knows better than to cage in a lion. He lets go and Louis is taking deep breaths, looking anywhere but Harry’s eyes.

                “I’m sorry,” he finally chokes out, his voice broken and distressed, “this is all so sweet but—I have to go,” he says quickly, “I’m sorry”

                Harry shakes his head and helps Louis gather up the gifts in his hands. He follows him to his car, trying his best not to be pushy, not to corner Louis. Louis doesn’t respond well to that. And though their relationship is shaky at the moment, balancing on the very tip of the mountain, Louis still loves Harry, he’ll still come around. Harry knows it.

                Louis puts everything in his passenger seat hurriedly, and takes the gift bag from Harry’s hand quickly too, gently throwing it to his passengers seat to join the batch of cookies.

                They stand there, Harry unaware of what to say and Louis all jumpy with nerves that Harry doesn’t know the cause of.

                “Again,” Louis wipes at his nose, the cold and tears making it run, “I’m really sorry about this”

                “No, no,” Harry interjects, “it’s fine. It’s okay”

                Harry’s sure many things are not okay, but he’s also sure they run deeper than Louis can explain right now and most probably, have nothing to do with him.

                Louis nods, and turns to open his car door. Harry feels cold, not just because it’s winter in London, but because Louis’ leaving, he’s leaving without a proper goodbye, and Harry’s not sure, but it feels like Louis’ taking all of Harry’s warmth from him whenever he leaves this way. Harry wants to reach out, wants to bring Louis back so he can leave him with a little bit of something to shelter himself with from this terrible feeling inside him. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, watching helplessly as Louis climbs in the car.

                Louis sits down and then he just stays there. He doesn’t turn the car on, put the keys in the ignition. He just sits there, looking out to nothing. Harry’s worried, so worried. He opens his mouth but then Louis is getting off again, standing right in front of Harry, and for the first time since Harry’s arrived, Louis looks him straight in the eyes.

                They’re light, lighter than any shade Harry has seen out of Louis’ eyes. And his lips are wobbling, and his eyes are filling, and he looks at Harry like he needs him to hold him. But he doesn’t reach out, so Harry doesn’t.

                “My grandma’s sick again,” he lets out a shaky breath and then a couple of tears, “she’s real sick Harry and we don’t—we don’t know if this is it. I have to be there for them, for my family”

                He’s not saying much, and now Harry understands why, but he also understands what Louis _is_ saying, without actually verbalizing the words. He gets it. He does. He just wishes—he stops himself. He needs to stop wishing for things. The world is not a wish granting factory. He nods.

                “Be safe,” he manages to say, “love you”

                He doesn’t tell him to call, doesn’t tell him to text. He just wants him to go, without worrying about Harry, about Harry and Kendall, about Louis and Harry, or about Louis and Eleanor and Harry. He just wants him to go without Harry and their issues being a burden. Because his family is more important and Harry would never be selfish enough to put anything before what’s going on now.

                Louis nods, “yeah,” he says, turning away, “me too”

                He gets in, this time closing the door. Harry watches as his hands shake uncontrollably, and he has a hard time getting the keys in the ignition. His heart constricts and he has to tell himself not to push, not to butt in. He knows Louis wouldn’t want it, _doesn’t_ want it.

                 Louis looks up to Harry through the window, he nods and Harry waves him off. He drives off, reckless and Louis, and Harry just stands there, feeling empty and more alone than he has in a long, long time.

                                                                                       

**                                     

                They’re sitting by the fire in their lodge in the mountains, Kendall and Harry. They have the TV playing silently, because most of the rest of their company is already asleep. Kendall, it seems, likes to stay up watching old films too. Harry doesn’t really mind. If he’s honest with himself, he can admit Kendall’s a sweet girl. She has an obnoxious family, a controlling mother, but as an individual, which Harry has learned through time matters more than anything else attached to a person, she’s not the worst company he could’ve been set up with.

                She doesn’t know, of course, that Harry has Louis. She doesn’t know Harry’s heart yearns for someone else, belongs to someone else. She could take advantage of the situation, thinking Harry’s single, but she doesn’t. She seems as uninterested in unfolding something behind closed doors as he does. She’s doing it for the cameras, like him, and when they’re not around, they’re just two people who barely know each other, trying to make it through the best they can.

                He’s watching the flames dance in the chimney, watches them rise and fall, burn brighter then dimmer. He doesn’t know when he became so interested, but somewhere along sixteen candles he’s become entranced. He feels her move next to him and then he’s looking over. She runs her fingers through her hair and smiles. She’s a beautiful girl, there’s no denying it. But when he sees her, he imagines someone else.

                “I think I’m gonna go to bed,” she says quietly. He nods and she gets up, stretching and yawning. She hands him the blanket she was just using and he takes it, though he doesn’t really need it because the fire keeps him warm enough.

                “Thanks,” he smiles and she does too.

                “Night, Harry”

                “G’night, Kendall,” Harry says politely. She gives him a little wave before she’s off, and then Harry’s staring back at the flames.  He wants to dive into them, lose himself in warmth no amount of clothing can provide. The only person that can provide that for him is miles away, a whole country off. He digs into his pocket, taking out his phone. He’s got a couple of messages from Niall, with a bunch of bad jokes involving him and Kendall, and him and Taylor and tacky ski trips puns.

                He ignores that and tries not to feel disappointed that, for the second day in a row, Louis has not bothered to contact him. He wants to be patient, wants to be more understanding than he’s pretending he is. But he just, he hates that he’s so far away, that he’s so caught up with the schemes his publicity team have cooked up that he can’t be there for Louis. He can’t just be everything Louis wants.

                Without being able to talk himself out of it, he dials Louis’ number. He assumes it’s fairly late over in London, but if he knows Louis, he knows it doesn’t matter. Louis’ not sleeping. He probably hasn’t had more than two hours of sleep each night since the last time Harry saw him.

                It rings, and rings, and rings, until it’s not anymore and Harry slumps down a bit on the couch.

                “Harry,” Louis says into the line. Harry feels lighter then, just hearing the way his name falls from Louis’ lips. The way it’s familiar, and home, and them.

                “I’m sorry it’s so late,” Harry says.

                “Yeah,” he hears Louis move around, “it’s okay. Wasn’t really sleeping anyways”

                Harry just as much figured. But he doesn’t tell Louis that.

                “How are you? How’s everyone?”

                Louis’ quiet for a moment, and Harry’s scared he’s said the wrong thing. He knows Louis doesn’t like those kind of questions, but Harry needs to know. He needs to know Louis’ okay, even if it’s just a little. Needs to know if he’s not, so Harry can try to do something, anything.

                “Everyone is… the way they’re supposed to be, I guess,” there’s a pause, “she passed away last night”

                Harry feels numb. Numb for many reasons. He didn’t expect that, didn’t expect Louis not to even call, not to even tell him. He wants to ask Louis why, wants to tell him what’s wrong with them, wants to beg him to please, not let them fall apart. But it’s all so selfish, and he’s such an asshole for wanting to make things worse on Louis, when really, Harry should be the last thing Louis’ caring about.

                “I wish I could be there, to—help, I don’t know,” are the words that tumble out of his mouth. And they’re messy and awful and he knows that if the world was the kind that granted wishes, he would’ve said something else entirely.

                “It’s okay,” Louis says small. It’s a lie and Harry clutches at his chest because he knows that. He knows nothing is okay and everything is shattered. Pieces of them scattered, lost somewhere Harry can’t find them.

                “Louis,” Harry breathes, “don’t—don’t say that. Because it’s not and I know, I know this is fucking awful, this whole thing with me and—”

                “Harry,” Louis stops him, “it’s alright, please, like. Just calm down”

                Harry tries, but tears spill down his face anyways. Because it’s frustrating. All this.

                “Why do you keep acting like that, Louis? You laugh when the guys tell jokes, and you smile like it’s all just a game, but Louis—I know you. I know it bothers you more than you say, and the fact that you’re not saying it is pushing us further apart,” Harry’s not trying to make things difficult. He just wants Louis to open up for him again. He wants to dive into Louis’ arms, into Louis, and he wants to drown in everything that is Louis. He is suffocating without him.

                “Harry, I’ve got more important things to worry about right now,” and although it’s true, the words come out cold and they stun Harry into silence, “I can’t, like, I can’t worry about us right now, okay? And I don’t want to. Kendall and you, and all that business, I—it doesn’t matter to me”

                Harry keeps crying, but he does it more silently, because he’s not going to push them onto Louis. If Louis doesn’t want it in his load, Harry’s too in love with Louis to put it there.

                “I understand,” he says as steady as he possibly can.

                “I’ll call or—something,” Louis says and Harry knows he’s lying, but he won’t call him out on it.

                “I love you,” Harry dares to say.

                “Yeah,” Louis says on the other line, “me too”

 

**

                It’s his fourth day with Kendall and the rest of them. It hasn’t been too bad. They’ve been up in the mountains, and he’s been enjoying the scenery, the snow, and sometimes even the company. He talks to Kendall more, and she talks just as much back. It’s nice, because well, he’s lonely. And he needs something, anything, to try and push Louis in the back of his mind. He doesn’t know why, because the feeling’s never been associated with Louis before, but when he thinks of him, he feels a hallow in his chest, a misstep in his mind, a hole in his heart. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s stuck in the middle of limbo, in the middle of nowhere.

                He puts on a hat, and it’s wide and huge, and Kendall says it reminds her of a sombrero.

                “That is priceless,” she laughs, and snaps a picture of him in it without his consent. He gets a bit serious then, and she notices.

                “Calm down, Mexican. It’s not going anywhere,” she assures, “please, I have enough of your fans eating me alive on every social network”

                She says it without a bad attitude, like it doesn’t really leave a mark in her or anything. Harry thinks that’s good. The ones who get with him, even if it’s for show, need to have thick skin for the wars to come from it.

                “Meet you downstairs?” she says, but doesn’t wait for him to reply. She goes, smiling as she skips down the hall. He laughs.  He decides something then, quick and bold. He takes his phone out from his pocket and snaps a selfie, making sure to get the most of his hat than he can. He sends it to Louis, captioned, “Mexican white boy?” and then hits send. He turns his phone off after, scared of not getting a reply, scared of not getting the one he wants.

 

**

                Harry’s in the kitchen, with Kendall and the rest of her friends, calls dibs on candy apples they bought from the shop when he gets the call. He’s laughing, until he sees the name flashing across his screen, and he becomes a lot more serious. He decided to turn on his phone when they came back with the trays of candle apples, buying way too many but what they still feel like is not enough.

                He doesn’t excuse himself, doesn’t find the time. He picks up quickly, and then he’s saying, “Louis?”

                “Hey, Mexican White Boy,” Louis says on the other line, a tone in his voice that Harry recognizes. He chuckles at the same time Kendall shouts his name.

                “Where are you going?” she screams from the kitchen, and Harry covers his mouthpiece so he doesn’t make Louis go deaf when he yells back out that he needs a minute. The guests in the kitchen groan loudly and dramatically, but don’t call for him again. He makes his way upstairs, where he can talk in private, and without background noise.

                “Hello?” he asks, as he goes into his room.

                “Yeah, still here,” Louis says, “did I call at a bad time?”

                “No, no,” Harry reassures, because no time is a bad time for Louis to call, “we were just having candy apples and stuff”

                Louis stays quiet for a second. Then says, “You’re still there”

                Harry sits down on his bed, a bit weary when he replies, “yeah. I mean, I have to be here for a bit. Enough time. And it’s not like, well,” he doesn’t want to sound like an ass, so he tries to say it with his gentles voice, “you’re not home and stuff. So, I thought it was okay”

                He hears Louis intake a breathe, and then let it go just as roughly, “yeah, it’s okay”

                They’re quiet, Harry feeling like he’s messed everything up without wanting to. He’s so happy Louis called. He doesn’t want it to end like their last phone call.

                “You got my picture,” he decides. It’s the right decision. Louis chuckles lightly on the other line. Harry closes his eyes, imagining the way Louis must look right now. His eyes must be crinkled by his sides, almost completely shut so they look smaller than they are. His face must be scrunched up, in complete joy, and the kind of the way that haunts Harry in his dreams.

                “I like it. The hat. It’s very,” he pauses, “you”

                Harry laughs and he can hear Louis laughing on the other line too. He misses him. Just hearing him on the phone, laughing, talking, makes him want to see him, in the flesh, and admire him even if Louis doesn’t want to be held or touched.

                “Thanks,” Harry replies softly, “I like that it makes me look multicultural”

                Louis laughs, not as heavy as the last two times, but laughs nonetheless. Harry suddenly doesn’t feel so cold. They grow quiet again, none of them knowing what else to say. Harry will try for anything, anything that isn’t too touchy and might make Louis hang up the line sooner, but he doesn’t know exactly what would be appropriate without being inconsiderate.

                Then Louis speaks, and it’s something Harry didn’t think he’d hear.

                “I miss you,” he says it low, but steady, like it’s a secret, one of his many hidden.

                “I miss you too,” Harry says, a lot more openly, because that’s Harry, and he doesn’t lock himself away from anyone, especially not Louis.

                “I know it’s all been crazy,” Louis inhales, “but—I really miss you. Whenever you can come home, just— come home. I’ll be there. Waiting for you” and it’s not much. It’s not nearly everything Louis keeps bottled up being exposed. It’s practically, to anyone, nothing. But to Harry, who knows Louis, and his hidden pages and sacred words, it’s almost everything. It’s sorry, it’s ‘yes, I’m bothered’, it’s ‘I want you here’, it’s ‘I need you here’ and maybe he’s crazy, from getting all that from a simple I miss you and ‘come home’ but he’s not crazy. He’s just Harry. He knows Louis.

                “I’ll take a flight tomorrow morning,” Harry says, because with Louis, that’s all he needs to say.

                He hears Louis sigh, “good. Very good”

                Harry thinks that yeah, it’s pretty good.

 


End file.
